


Hiraeth

by madamerenard



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Drama & Romance, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-22
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2019-09-24 23:54:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17110520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madamerenard/pseuds/madamerenard
Summary: Gairhard joins the fight for Ala Mhigo...with a certain Elezen carpenter not far behind. Surely there's no way this experience will strain their friendship...or lead to something more. Rated for later naughtiness.





	Hiraeth

“I see,” Commander Heuloix sighs.

Gairhard doesn’t know what that means, so he just stands there, as awkward as when he first entered. The Commander straightens the papers before setting them down on his polished desk.

“You’re a fine Captain, Gairhard. Is there naught I can do to change your mind?”

Gairhard’s gaze flicks to the side, eyeing the potted plant in the corner. He’s partly ashamed to leave the Adders, even temporarily. His responsibility and vows to Gridania ring out in his head. But the nagging thoughts of leaving would not cease, especially for such a dear cause.

He shakes his head. Heuloix nods. “I thought so. Well, we shall miss your presence dearly, and will be praying for your safe return to us.” The Commander leans back in his chair, eyeing Gairhard with a cryptic look. “By the by, have you thought about how you’re going to break the news to _him?_ For the sake of all of Gridania, I would rather we avoid one of the Timbermaster’s infamous rampages.”

Gairhard’s shoulders fall helplessly. While it tickled him pink, personally, that Beatin would care so dearly (and that everyone in Gridania knew that), sometimes that made it hard to tell him difficult things. “I don’t think there’s any way I can word it that won’t make him upset, but I’ll do my best.”

“Please do.” Heuloix shakes his head. “Funny how you’re the only one able to rile him up like that...and the only one able to calm him down.”

Gairhard, apparently, stands there too long thinking about that, because he’s sharply dismissed.

* * *

“Beatin? Can we talk?”

Beatin glances at him, finger still raised to point out where his underlings should put the shipment from Limsa Lominsa. He turns, hands on his hips, and his eyes dart from side to side seeing the chaos all around him. The Oak Atrium was always like this on a shipment day. “Yes. I’m not sure where, but yes.”

Gairhard is thankful that Beatin puts his duties aside to indulge him. “How about the Orchard? I think the children are eating lunch.”

Beatin gasps. “Lunch! That’s right, they haven’t had their lunch breaks yet.” He snaps his fingers a few times, commanding attention from his guild members. “Listen up! When you’re done with your task, you can take a break to eat. But I want you back here in a bell, you understand?”

Then Beatin saunters away, leaving Gairhard almost jogging to catch up. The two sit on the benches in the Acorn Orchard, which is thankfully free of children, because Gairhard really isn’t sure how his friend will react to the news. For now, Beatin looks relaxed, if a little tired. Every year it seems like more of the energetic youth is drained from him. Gairhard remembers the days when Beatin was a boundless well of enthusiasm and determination...he supposes their respective jobs have done a number on them both.

“Something tells me you didn’t call me here to enjoy the sunshine,” Beatin says, interrupting his friend’s thoughts. Despite his words, the guildmaster looks like he’s on the beach, leaning back to let his tawny skin soak up the light, and squinting up at the bright sky. There’s even a slight lift of his lips. That won’t last much longer, so Gairhard drinks in the sight for a moment before his thoughts to turn to more serious matters.

“Maybe this will explain it better than I can,” Gairhard sighs, handing a poster to the Timbermaster. Beatin’s long, half-gloved fingers gently pluck it away, and the Adder captain swallows back his shiver. He’s too old to be doing this still. He’s not a boy anymore, for Nophica’s sake...

Beatin unrolls the poster. It’s a flyer calling for soldiers to liberate Ala Mhigo from Garlean control. The implication is, to Gairhard, quite clear, but Beatin doesn’t say anything. He’s completely silent and still. So Gairhard, as he does, starts to babble.

“The Adders are sponsoring whatever soldiers wish to enlist in the liberation effort. A few members of my squadron—the Ala Mhigans, for the most part—are leaving for Gyr Abania in a week’s time. And, um...”

“And you’re going with them.” Beatin tries to keep his voice calm, factual, but underneath Gairhard can hear faint horror. He’s not angry that Gairhard is leaving. He’s scared.

“...Yes.” Scared. What the hell does Gairhard do with scared? He was ready to restrain Beatin from one of his uncontrollable fits of rage, but now he’s in unfamiliar territory. Gods, he doesn’t know how to assuage his fears. And knowing Beatin, he is already thinking the worst—a broken, bloody corpse in the middle of a foreign land, alone.

Gairhard thinks of that too. He’s not planning on dying, but he’s not a stranger to the idea either. Soldiers die—that is a truth of life, and not one he can outrun forever. Though it would pain him to leave Beatin alone at all, the worst part of dying in Gyr Abania is that he would be far away from him, dying alone, and Beatin would not even be able to see him buried.

The Timbermaster hasn’t said anything after his revelation. His hands are in his lap, still clutching the flyer, and though his wrists rest on his legs Gairhard can see the paper trembling. The Hyur doesn’t even know where to begin. “Beatin...I know it’s sudden...”

“Sudden?” The tremors in his hands move to his arms, then up to his shoulders. His eyes are shaded by his glasses, but he bites his lips in a vain attempt to keep them from quivering as well. “As if it is not enough that I spend my time praying for you not to die in the forest, now you have to go cross borders to a foreign land and die there? And I only have a week’s time to spend with you before I have to say goodbye?”

“I’m not going to die,” Gairhard protests, before tilting his head in self-doubt. “Probably. Look, it’s only for a few moons. I promise you I will come back home, and I’ve never broken that promise before, right?” This does nothing to comfort Beatin, who is still catastrophizing. “I’m sorry, Beatin. It’s just something I have to do.”

Beatin shakes his head and gulps a breath of air, trying to calm himself. “No, no, you’re right. It is only natural for you to want to free your homeland. And I want you to be able to do that, but a bigger part of me remains selfish as ever. I want you to stay here. I want to be able to see you. I want...” He sighs, holding the cool leather of the back of his glove to his head. “I want so many selfish things.”

_I don’t want to leave you either,_ Gairhard wants to say. _I want to see you too. I want us to be together._ But what actually comes out of his mouth is: “Come with me.”

Beatin stares at him. If Gairhard could stare at himself, he would. What did he just say?

“You’re serious?” the Elezen whispers, and it holds such timid hope that Gairhard melts into it.

“Yes. I want you to see my homeland. I want to share that experience with you...” There are a lot of other things Gairhard wants, but he’s choosing his words carefully. What do just-friends do with each other? “Uh...you know. If you can.”

Beatin blinks, apparently having suddenly remembered that he does actually have duties to his city-state. The conflict in his eyes as he tries to think of a way to honor Gridania while impulsively running away with his friend breaks Gairhard’s heart. “I don’t...I don’t know...perhaps if I appealed the Elder Seedseer...she might...” he trails off, then stands up so suddenly that it startles the Adder captain.

“So much to do!” he exclaims, turning around to Gairhard who still looks surprised. “Sorry. I’ll try. Gods, I’ll try. I must away at once...wait. Am I to assume that for the next week, aside from your preparations, you are free of your usual duties?”

“Well...yes. I turned in my papers this morning. I’m officially on leave.”

“Wonderful! So you can help me!”

“What?” was the only thing Gairhard could sputter out before Beatin grabbed his arm—just like their childhood—and dragged him to the Atrium, babbling his to-do list all the while.

* * *

Thus did Gairhard find himself in the Oak Atrium once more, milling about with his arms crossed. Beatin’s only instructions being ‘make sure they focus on their work, and don’t cut their own arms off’, he really doesn’t have much else to do. Most of the carpenters do focus on their work, but there is one particular Miqo’te that seems to be able to do anything but.

He recognizes her—when he asked for help concerning his Gridanian and Ala Mhigan comrades’ morale, Beatin bid she and his protégé were to tackle the case. The latter did not linger overmuch in Gridania, leaving the Miqo’te to fill in the place of Beatin’s most trusted underling, he supposed. What was her name again...? Seti?

In the midst of pulling up her name from the deepest reaches of his mind, he nearly misses her question about the Timbermaster’s whereabouts. “He didn’t say anything about leaving...and on shipment day, too!”

“Ah, I suppose he doesn’t want word getting out until it’s finalized. Or mayhap he just has a lot of his mind...”

“’Til what’s finalized?”

Gairhard probably shouldn’t answer that truthfully. He does anyway, because he can’t come up with a better lie. “Ah...I asked him to come with me to Gyr Abania to aid the liberation force.”

“What?” The Miqo’te’s tail goes wild as she gestures wildly. “T-That’s crazy! Who will be Timbermaster in his place?”

“ _You_ will, Cemi.”

As Gairhard finally places a name to the face, a familiar Elezen strides in with a confident—maybe even cocky—smile on his face. If she were overexcited before, she goes wild now with those three words. “W-W-What? No way, I couldn’t! I don’t know anything about being Timbermaster!”

“Then you must needs attend me closely for the next week,” is all Beatin offers, along with a quirk of his brow. As Cemi half chokes, half stares out into space with the new (if temporary) promotion, Gairhard smiles at his friend. “Then...?” he asks hopefully.

“I am cleared to accompany you. May I ever find favor with the Elementals.” Beatin makes a large sweeping gesture, and Gairhard laughs.

He can’t believe it. It’s really happening. This is....

* * *

This is horrible.

Just what has he done?

Though yesterday he was naught but smiles, it hits him like a sack of chocobo dung the next day what precisely he had offered. A trip with his closest friend. No, with the _object of his affections_. He can deny it no longer. Though their distance in the past had soothed some of the ache of unrequited love, it would not be so easy to spend moons by his side.

It was fine, though. Wasn’t it? He had held his tongue this long. Beatin was none the wiser. And he would remain so, if Gairhard had enough strength and willpower. If not...their friendship was surely over. And that was a more frightening thought than even death.

Still...it’s not as if he can go back on his word. So he continues to show up, without fail, at the Oak Atrium each day. And each day does Beatin put him to work as if one of his carpenters, lifting logs and delivering commissions alike.

Gairhard doesn’t mind the work, even if it’s only manual labor. Keeping his body busy keeps his mind from dwelling on the thoughts of the days ahead. And Beatin seems like he needs the help, too. Every day he entertains more and more guests.

“They’re all commissioning him,” Cemi tells him as he stops to study Beatin talking with an elderly man. “Every single one. Seems word got out about his leave and everyone in Eorzea is scrambling to get their personal commissions from the Timbermaster before he leaves.”

“Surely he’s not taking them all?” It seems ridiculous to even put it in words. Beatin’s no fool.

Cemi shakes her head helplessly. “Unfortunately, he only shows his, uh, beloved harshness to his carpenters. Besides, you know how passionate he is about his work. I only pray he remembers to take meals and sleep a little this time.”

Gairhard frowns, but Cemi is right. Over the next couple days, he can see the strain of Beatin’s workload start to take its toll. The Timbermaster looks abysmal, constantly rubbing at reddened and puffy eyes and uncharacteristically losing track of thought when speaking. What’s more is that Gairhard rarely sees him, presumably retreating to his separate workspace to concentrate. Gairhard is almost afraid to knock at the door, even with food, lest he stir the Elezen’s sleep-deprived ire.

But that doesn’t stop him from acting impulsively in other ways. When a young Hyur storms in—a young Adder recruit that Gairhard vaguely remembers skulking about the Nest—he doesn’t fetch Beatin. “Can I help you?”

“Where’s the Timbermaster?” the youth asks brusquely.

“He’s busy.”

“Busy? Isn’t he supposed to be serving Gridania? And who the hells are you—his manservant?”

Before Gairhard’s eye can twitch too much, Cemi emerges from the back with a length of lumber in her hands. She seems to recognize the youth, too, and not in a flattering way. “Aldwin? What are you doing here?”

“I’m here because none of you fools seems to know how to craft a lasting spear! I wielded the damned thing yesterday in training and it nearly broke! Imagine what it would do in a real combat situation!”

Cemi growled. “Timbermaster Beatin looked at that thing yesterday and told you there was nothing wrong with it! You’re just trying to sucker him into making you a custom one!”

Gairhard’s lip curls.

“I am just trying to acquire decent equipment from our very own guild.”

“Well, I am sorry to say, but Master Beatin is not taking any more commissions,” the captain says between gritted teeth in an impressive show of patience.

“He can’t say no. I’m a Twin Adder soldier! I need this to protect our homeland!”

Gairhard has a mind to chew him out, but he’s never been one for words. Besides, they were both Adders...and they would solve this the Adder way. He trudges over to the youth and grabs him roughly by the back of the tunic, dragging him out of the guild. Once he and the struggling recruit are outside, he lifts the boy high in the air. With the other hand, he plucks the spear from the boy’s back and looks at it.

“This is a fine spear. You’d do well to learn some respect, boy. I’ll give this to your captain later, along with a full report.” And with that, he lets go—sending the recruit tumbling into the shallow creek that ran through the city-state.

When he turns back, Cemi is looking at him with a wide grin of awe. As they walk back into the Atrium together, she rants and raves about him becoming their new “bouncer”. Before he can reply, however, they’re stopped by a very worried looking Beatin.

“I...heard noises. Is everything alright?” He looks between the two, his ever critical craftsman’s eye scouring their forms, and he notices Aldwin’s spear strapped to Gairhard’s back. “Ah, the boy came in again, did he?”

Gairhard nods. “Yes. I told him you weren’t accepting any more commissions and sent him on his way.”

“As much as I appreciate you fending off the brat for me, why would you lie to him? I can take plenty more commissions...”

The Hyur narrows his gaze. “Beatin, look at you! You’re working yourself to the brink of death, and I fear you’ll take the plummet any moment.” In a semi-bold move, he steps forward and gently eases the glasses from his friend’s eyes. “One need only look at your eyes to tell.”

Beatin looks vulnerable without his glasses to hide behind, his dark-circled eyes searching Gairhard’s face helplessly. Bare fingertips come to rub at them once more as Beatin’s shoulders fall in a sigh. “Mayhap you’re right,” he mumbles weakly, barely able to be heard. “But it will all be worth it, I promise. Once we’re away...not that I fancy Gyr Abania to be any sort of vacation, by any means. It...ah, never mind.”

Gairhard really doesn’t know what he’s talking about, but then, he supposes Beatin barely does, either. He hands his glasses back to his friend. “When’s the last meal you took?”

“I don’t know...I think I had an orange a few bells ago.”

“You must be hungry, then. I’ll fetch you some food. If you won’t sleep for all your workload, the least I can do is keep your strength up.” Gairhard turns to leave, but he only gets a few paces away before Beatin calls for him.

The Elezen hasn’t put his glasses back on, still turning it over in his hands. So when he meets his friend’s eyes, Gairhard sees an open, if utterly exhausted, gratitude in his dark brown orbs. “Thank you.”

How could the small glimpses of his bare eyes from a side glance compare to seeing Beatin’s beautiful eyes on him, full force? It doesn’t. Gairhard commits the sight to memory, and promptly resumes his mission.

* * *

 

It’s the day before they’re scheduled to leave, and Beatin’s near the end of his rope. He’s forsaken his proud, back-straight posture to a lazily slumped over one, elbows against the railing in front of him. Gairhard stays faithfully at his side, but it seems Beatin doesn’t have much for him to do today.

“What time are we leaving tomorrow?” the carpenter asks.

“Well before dawn.”

Beatin groans and grumbles, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I might as well not sleep, then.” He glances at Gairhard, who doesn’t seem too happy about that suggestion. “Don’t give me that look. If I succumb to slumber now, I won’t be able to wake up. Besides, I can sleep on the way.”

“If that’s your reasoning,” the captain replies doubtfully.

The Timbermaster arches his back and stretches, almost like a coeurl. Gairhard tries not to look at the way his chest is presented to him, or the way his gown lifts slightly as he raises his arms. “Oh, joy. Another long night with only the wood to talk to.”

Beatin looks at him, as if trying to tell him something, or expecting some sort of answer. Gairhard meets his gaze questioningly. “If only there was someone willing to stay up with me...a good friend, mayhap,” the Elezen continues, smiling softly—pleadingly—at the other.

“...You want me to keep you company?”

“You’re offering?” It was really unfortunate how flirtatious Beatin could be when he wanted something.

Really, really, unfortunate.

“I suppose I can’t tell you no.”

“Ah, that’s what I love about you, Gairhard.” Before Gairhard can really dwell on that statement, the Atrium’s doors open for another visitor. Unlike most before him, however, Beatin seems happy—or at least nonchalant—to see him. “Brother E-Sumi-Yan. I was just about to send your cane off.”

The Padjal raises his hand in dismissal, smiling. “It’s no bother. I rather enjoyed the walk. So it’s ready, then?”

Beatin nods. “Indeed it is. Let me go get it.” And then Gairhard and E-Sumi-Yan were left alone. There’s an uncomfortable pause in which Gairhard tries to act the ‘strong-and-silent’ type. Luckily, the Padjal starts conversation.

“Captain Gairhard. The two of you have certainly grown since I’ve seen you last.”

Gairhard remembers the day. It was not long after he had come to Gridania and befriended Beatin that the (then fledgling) carpenter snuck them into the Fane to show him what a Padjal was. E-Sumi-Yan knew they were there, of course, and let the curious boys ask as many questions as they’d like. “Well...I wish I could say the same of you,” is all Gairhard can think to say, noting the Padjal’s eternally youthful appearance.

E-Sumi-Yan laughs. “Blessings of the forest, you know. At any rate, I wanted to wish you good tidings on your trip together, and best of luck.”

“Thank you.” Gairhard’s not sure why he needs luck, but the good tidings are nice. In that moment, Beatin returns with a masterfully crafted cane in his hands. Even E-Sumi-Yan seems in awe of it, gently taking the tool from him.

“You’ve outdone yourself again, Timbermaster.” A tilt of his head and lips is the only response Beatin gives. Doubtless, Gairhard thinks, he gets this compliment more often than not. It’s probably gone to his head a hundred times over, leaving him with that insufferable cocksure attitude.

He watches as E-Sumi-Yan hands over a hefty sack of gil. Cost of materials aside, that seems like more than thrice his own pay. And he charges the conjurers that much? He never thought Beatin a shrewd businessman, but maybe that was his surprise talking. After all, he’d never had to pay Beatin a gil, not even for the crab bow his protégé brought him. He had tried, but Beatin just shook his head as he checked him over for injuries. Ever the worrier.

After that, Gairhard plays delivery moogle/guild babysitter for the rest of the day. Beatin spends most of the day hidden away working, only coming out with the finished pieces and at the end of the day to see his carpenters off. A few wished him safe travels, but Cemi was mysteriously absent. It seems Beatin also noticed with no small hint of sadness, but he beckons Gairhard into the back rooms nonetheless.

“Are you sure I won’t be a distraction?” Gairhard asks as he follows.

“Well...a welcome distraction,” Beatin answers cryptically, only giving a coy smirk. He ushers Gairhard into one of the rooms. It’s dimly lit, the only lamp hanging over the workbench, which is just _covered_ in tools, sawdust, and half-finished projects. Designs are pinned up above the bench, penned in Beatin’s scrawly script. Planks of wood line the walls, threatening to topple at the first touch.

“So this is where the magic happens.”

“It’s a bit messy,” Beatin admits. “Oh. Let me get you a chair. Be right back.”

Out of curiosity, Gairhard peers at the designs. One is an amazing sketch of some sort of longbow that Beatin calls “Failnaught”. Except it has a harp, seamlessly integrated into its design. A bard’s weapon. There are a few other, equally as magnificent, sketches of spears, bows, even shoes. But one page catches his eye, and that’s because it’s not in Beatin’s handwriting. It’s a printed page from a book, detailing Ala Mhigan history, of all things. He doesn’t get too close of a glimpse at it, however, because at that moment Beatin unceremoniously bashes in the door with another chair.

“I meant to ask,” Beatin says offhandedly as they get themselves situated. “What’s in that bag you brought?”

Gairhard smiles as he flips open the flap on the leather pouch. “Some snacks for our little sleepover.” And he lets the smell of muffins, cookies, and sweets drift over to the carpenter, who is already drooling. Beatin shakes himself out of it, waving his hand. “I’ll leave you to ration them.”

The Hyur would be glad to feed them to Beatin all night, but he shakes himself out of those thoughts too and closes the flap, putting the temptation away. He’s almost afraid to talk to Beatin, lest he distract him from his work, but luckily the other starts most conversations.

“What’s Ala Mhigo like?”

“How would I know? I haven’t seen it in twenty years. My memories of it are very blurry and very little.”

“Right, right. You must be glad to be going back to your homeland.”

“...”

“No?” Beatin asks worriedly.

“It’s just...” Gairhard sighs. “I have lived in Gridania most of my life. I have fought for her just the same as I have sought her shelter. Yes, I was born in Ala Mhigo, but...were you to ask where my home lies...I’m not sure if I can even answer that.”

There’s a pause. “I...understand. Actually, I’m not sure if I can say that, having never left Gridania’s borders for more than a few days. But I want you to know, there’s always a place for you here. And who knows, mayhap this journey will bring you closer to your homeland.” The next words were quieter, barely audible over the scratch of sandpaper. “Not that I’d like you to leave Gridania.”

Tumultuous thoughts of home aside, Gairhard couldn’t even imagine the thought of leaving permanently. What good was a life without Beatin? He’d put up with the bitter words and scorned looks of a thousand locals if it meant he’d be able to see one white-haired Elezen.

A few hours more of small talk pass them by. Eventually, Beatin crooks a finger in his direction, beckoning him closer. “I need your hands.”

Not one to say no, no matter the request, Gairhard shuffles closer. The space is cramped, and there’s really no place for him to stand to help than directly behind Beatin. Though the Elezen is taller by a few ilms, Gairhard can nonetheless breathe his scent, a heady mixture of sawdust and sage, presumably from his favored soap. He smelled just like the forest he was born in. Gods, they were so close. It would be so easy to ease a hand onto his waist, the other exploring his slender body...

No. Absolutely not. Gods, this is just what he was afraid of. He needs to steel his mind from these indulgent fantasies, lest their entire trip be uncomfortable and awkward. He shakes his head roughly to clear his mind, but he’s afraid he may have missed any instructions Beatin gave him in the time he spent mulling over his scent. “What should I do?”

Beatin doesn’t answer right away. It’s then that Gairhard notices his friend is shivering. How strange, though the sun had long fallen. Likely the light, low-cut gown he wore offered little protection from the nighttime chill. Maybe he should bring a coat. “Beatin?”

Beatin starts a little, seemingly coming back to himself. “Right. Right...” His voice sounds distant, husky even. He clears his throat. “Put your hands here and hold the two pieces together.”

Gairhard does so, and watches as Beatin fumbles with a few screws. Seems the cold is really affecting him. Still, he manages to affix them into the bow’s hinges. The last two require him to bend down for the best angle, and their hips brush as he does so.

It takes a good bit of willpower (and biting his lip) to keep Gairhard from whining or groaning. _Rhalgr give me strength..._

The last of the screws fastened, Beatin stands up quite suddenly. Gairhard releases the bow and takes a few steps back in surprise. Though his back is turned, the Hyur notices his friend’s shoulders shaking and heaving with each breath. Just as he’s about to ask after Beatin’s health, the carpenter spins around and stares at the other with...worry? Fear? It’s hard to tell with his glasses.

“I must...needs fetch more materiel.” And Beatin all but bolts from the room, closing the door behind him. Leaving Gairhard quite flabbergasted as to what just transpired.

Despite that awkward exchange, Beatin comes back with two cups of tea and seemingly no knowledge of what had just happened. Well, if he was going to ignore that whole thing, Gairhard would gladly do the same. The two eventually ease back into regular conversation. Before long, the appointed hour approached. Beatin scrambles to stuff the last of his tools in his bag before they set off.

“Ready for hours of smelling chocobo?” Gairhard jests as they approach the carts, putting their bags in storage underneath.

“I’ll hopefully be fast asleep.”

“MASTER BEATIN!”

The two look behind them to see a veritable horde of children, some excited and some sleepy, coming towards them.

“Children!” Beatin chides. “What are you all doing up at this hour?”

“We had to come see you off!” one replies, not at all affected by Beatin’s scolding as she comes right up to the Elezen and hugs around his legs. A few others follow her lead, putting him a leglock. “We’re gonna miss you, Master Beatin! Send us lots of letters!”

One little girl, however, comes up to Gairhard and tugs on his tunic. When he looks down at her questioningly, she holds her arms out and flexes her fingers. Gairhard looks to Beatin, who sees this exchange and frantically gestures for the Hyur to pick her up.

He does, letting the girl’s head fall on his broad shoulder. “Are you Master Beatin’s boyfriend?” she asks quietly, as to not let anyone else hear.

He chuckles. “No, nothing of the sort.”

“Well, you should be. He likes you. I can tell.”

How silly a notion. Gairhard doesn’t know quite how to answer that, so he just holds the girl for as long as she likes. Beatin entertains the children around him for a few more moments before Cemi walks up to him, dispersing the younglings. The girl pulls at him, and he sets her down to join the others. He only catches the tail end of their conversation, but it ends with Cemi hugging her master and the Elezen returning it warmly.

“Just keep Figaga’s Gift turning, and you’ll be fine. I promise.”

“Okay. Come back soon, though.”

“I’ll try.” Beatin lets her go, waving her off as the two board the carriage. Gairhard sits on one bench, expecting Beatin to sit on the other...only for the carpenter to place himself snug next to him.

“Ready to embark for parts unknown?” Beatin asks with no small degree of excitement. For someone who rarely strayed beyond Gridania’s gates, it must be equal parts thrilling and nervous. Luckily, Gairhard is there for him...and always will be.

“Ready.”

**Author's Note:**

> as you can see this is going to be a multi-chaptered fic, written as I progress through stormblood. wish me the fuck luck.


End file.
